


beauty sleep

by ImBadWithWords



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Mother-Son Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 07:02:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7630003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImBadWithWords/pseuds/ImBadWithWords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter cannot keep his eyes open, and it worries a certain aunt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	beauty sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt from magic-is-real-sometimes (go look her up on tumblr, she's amazing, I love her): aunt may worries about peter being tired all the time? like a hurt/comfort fluff one?

Peter’s excuses of staying up too late got old very quickly.

There was no way a teenager like Peter, with all his enthusiasm and excitement, should constantly be walking around half-dead on his feet. Not to say he was a morning person before, but generally by lunchtime he was bouncing around with youthful energy. After Ben’s death, however, Peter just seemed so tired.

He still laughed and joked, of course; he wouldn’t be Peter if there wasn’t a smile hiding behind his eyes. But there were little things. Things like collapsing into his chair when he sat down for dinner and hiding yawns behind cups of coffee even at four o’clock in the afternoon. He would lean against the kitchen counter whenever he was talking to her, like he didn’t have the energy to stand on his own two feet. She would be talking to him and have to repeat herself because he was lost in space, and not like before; before the slumped shoulders and the bags under his eyes, Peter had always rambled aloud whenever that brilliant mind of his had gone off on another tangent, too caught up with his own thoughts to notice what was going on around him. It was worrying to say the least.

Not to mention it had begun to bleed over into his school life. May had gotten a phone call from a concerned teacher who told her Peter had fallen asleep in the middle of English—for the fourth time in three months. Apparently Mr. Ordway had asked around because it wasn’t the only class Peter had been caught snoozing him. Every single one of his teachers said Peter had fallen asleep at least once during a lesson, but it had never happened until after Ben’s death.

Petey’s grades weren’t the issue—his participation had taken a hit, Mr. Ordway had said, but his diligence in every other aspect more than made up for it. No, May’s concern was about why her nephew couldn’t seem to keep his eyes open.

Scouring the Internet had offered a couple of possible answers, but nothing solid enough to comfort her. She came away with two reasonable options, the first being Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. The name certainly fit the symptoms, but the voice in the back of May’s head agreed with the second: depression.

It made far too much sense. Peter was always tired, he had lost weight, he was more reserved, and maybe most importantly, it had all started right after Ben had died.

“Peter, I think maybe you should talk to someone. About what happened to your uncle,” she had said to him one night while they were washing up after dinner. Peter had nearly dropped the plate he had been drying.

“I-I do talk to people,” he had said, eyes focused on his task, away from her. “MJ and Gwen and Harry. The guidance counselor, once.” He had half shrugged at the last part, which May knew meant he hadn’t been telling the whole truth. She had let it slide. 

“I mean a therapist, someone who knows how to help people dealing with a trauma,” she insisted. He shoved the plate into the cupboard. 

“Trauma?” The huff of air that passed through his lips was almost a laugh, but too curt. “Aunt May, I-I’m not _traumatized_. I just need a little… a little time. To adjust.” He turned his face back to her, his eyes soft, comforting smiling at the edge of his lips. He really shouldn’t be the one comforting her, May thought, but it made her feel better to accept it. She had let the matter drop for a while and Peter seemed to give an extra effort to show her he was okay, making breakfast on Saturday mornings for the both of them and talking about getting a job to make a little pocket money. (May noticed that even after he became a photographer for the Bugle he never had much cash on him. But suddenly there was always a little more money in the jar she kept to pay the bills.)

Still, as time went on, Peter’s exhaustion became more obvious. He would fall asleep anywhere; while eating breakfast, while doing his homework, tying his shoes, in the shower, only to jerk awake with wide eyes and hitched breath. It became a regular thing for May to place a hand on Peter’s hair while he was slumped over the kitchen table only to have him startle and stiffen. He laughed it off whenever it happened, making a joke about needing as much beauty sleep as he could get. His cat naps did little for the dark circles under his eyes that looked too much like the bruises May sometimes glimpsed under his baggy sweaters. Peter needed help and May began to doubt if she could give it.

She was sitting in Ben’s favorite armchair one evening when Peter tramped down the stairs, school bag slung across his back. He moved toward the door, throwing a smile and a wave over his shoulder.

“I’m headed to the library, Aunt May,” he said, “I’ll probably be back late, so don’t wait up. Love you!”

“Peter, wait!” May called. Her nephew stopped with his hand on the doorknob. Peter turned, head tilted to the side.

“I—“ May paused, unsure what she wanted to say. “Do you think you could stay home tonight? I understand if you have an assignment or need to do some extra studying, but I feel like we never get to spend time together anymore.”

Peter looked at a loss for a moment, mouth opening and closing but saying nothing.

“We could watch a movie? Make some popcorn?” May suggested. She tried to keep the hope out of her voice, make it seem casual and nonchalant, but the guilt that flashed across Peter’s face told her she failed.

“Yeah,” Peter said finally. “Yeah, Aunt May, that sounds— that sounds nice.” He smiled, big and real and just for her, his eyes crinkling, the tiredness vanished. He put his bag down next to the door. The next thing May knew, he was enveloping her in a hug.

She held him fiercely, knowing her little boy was growing up, becoming her little man with all his own worries and responsibilities, but for this moment, just this moment, he was _hers_ and she never wanted to let go.

Peter put on WALL-E while May made a huge bowl of popcorn. They sat together on the couch, Peter squashed up into the corner with a blanket pulled up over his shoulders, his favorite position for movie nights. May dimmed the lights and turned the volume down just a little lower than usual. He didn’t even make it past the opening credits before he was gently snoring.

May looked at her nephew, his face smoothed over by sleep. She smiled to herself and resolved to call the school and let them know he way staying home the next day. He deserved the rest.


End file.
